Goumar Almoctar, known as Bombino, is the most celebrated Tuareg musician in the world. After the international success achieved in 2013 with the marvelous “Nomad”, Almoctar has played virtually everywhere, spreading that miraculous balance of traditional Niger music, blues, psychedelia, folk and fingerpicking. An artistic migration that has come full circle with a return to the arms of Mother Africa, sealed in the new album, “Deran”, through the choice to fully embrace his mother tongue, Tamasheq, and to record everything in the studio of the Moroccan king Mohammed VI, in Casablanca. A work rich in personal references and nods to traditional Tuareg customs. But above all a work in which melancholy acts as the glue between one memory and another, and poignant twists of fate. We caught up with him during his latest tour, to hear about the countless experiences he's had as a “nomad musician” around the globe. And also to learn more about his views on what's happening today to his people, and to his beloved homeland.
You recorded “Deran” in the studio of the Moroccan king Mohammed VI, in Casablanca. How was the experience? And why there specifically?
During the recording of “Azel” in the United States I felt the urge to go back, so I decided to record “Deran” entirely in Africa. After looking into several countries, we found that Morocco was a good meeting point for all of us. So we asked for advice from a friend who lives and works there, as a concert promoter and producer, and he suggested Studio HIBA. We're very grateful for that recommendation, since the studio is truly world-class, fantastic in every way.
“Tehigren” means “trees” and the line “Non dimenticare gli alberi verdi/ Nelle nostre valli del Sahara/ All’ombra dei quali riposano le ragazze belle, radiose e adorabili” is a clear reference to your life, since you were born right under an acacia tree about eighty kilometers northwest of the ancient city of Agadez. You've often said you felt the need to reconnect with Africa, with your homeland. Has there been some kind of distancing from it in recent years, or is it simply an innate melancholy?
Every year I spend mostly outside Niger, outside Africa, I feel a certain distance that I want to resist. I always want to travel the world and play as many shows in as many cities as possible, but at the same time I don't want to lose the connection with my home. I think that's the struggle of every musician, but especially of the Tuareg, who are deeply tied to the desert and to certain ways of life.
In your current lineup there's Illias Mohammed on guitar and vocals, American Corey Wilhelm on drums and percussion, and Mauritanian (based in Belgium) Youba Dia on bass. Your circle has also been widened by Moroccan percussionist Hassan Krifa, and by your cousins Anana ag Haroun and Toulou Kiki. And as you yourself write, over the past few months you have slept, eaten and made music in blissful isolation. How do you choose the members of your band? What are the qualities that fascinate you most in a musician and that lead you to pick them?
The different guys in the band joined in very different ways. Illias is like a brother or a cousin to me, I've known him my whole life, and his brothers too. Corey was brought into the band by one of our early tour managers, who suggested we try him out. From the very start, the relationship between Corey and me, musically but also personally, has been very strong and positive. Dia joined the band because we needed a real professional bassist who also understood Tuareg music. He was playing with my cousin Anana in Brussels in the group Kel Assouf. We met him there and then he started playing with us. Now the four of us are like family, even though when we're not touring we live on three different continents.
The Tuareg people are in constant struggle and have been sadly abandoned by the Western world, which is increasingly globalized and ruthless. Niger is a land extremely rich in raw materials (gold, oil, uranium, etc.) and lately there have also been new military training programs carried out by the Western coalition, officially meant to suppress an endless war. How do you position yourself in the face of all this violence, and this constant meddling by richer nations in foreign affairs? Do you think this "solidarity" hides something?
I don't think it's right to say that the Tuareg have been abandoned by the Western world. To begin with, we were never embraced by the Western world in the first place. Obviously, the West is interested in Niger's resources. I don't think anyone could say otherwise. We don't see anyone claiming "solidarity" with the Tuareg or even with Niger, only people interested in advancing their own interests. That's just politics.
Bringing people together seems to be one of your natural gifts. In Europe, North America, Japan, China, Australia, and even recently Argentina and Chile, your music has brought together different cultures, drawn in by your wonderful sound and your message of peace and universal harmony. What has been the most meaningful experience for you, playing around the world?
I've had dozens, maybe hundreds of truly remarkable and unforgettable experiences. I've played all over the world. I love playing in Algeria, in Morocco, but also in Italy and Portugal, in the United States and in Australia, Japan and Korea. I've even performed in Siberia. That was the longest journey, in some ways it felt even longer than the trip to Australia. The Siberians really appreciated the fact that we had come so far to play just for them. It was a very special moment for me. Just think: a Tuareg African who has played as far as Siberia. Incredible.
Although you've been forced to leave your home in exile several times, because of uprisings in your native region, you've slowly become something of a legend among the Tuareg, who see you as one of the most sought-after and skilled musicians in the region. What does music mean to the Tuareg, to your people? What's the message that matters most to you, that other peoples still haven't understood?
Music is a very important part of being Tuareg, of Tuareg identity. Listening to traditional Tuareg music and learning the songs is, for us, like going to school. Our history and our culture are preserved through our music. It's also how we celebrate at weddings and ceremonies for children, and at every formal event. If the Tuareg people were just a body, music would be the blood flowing through it, giving it movement and life.
On this album too, Delta blues magically merges with the visceral rhythms of your homeland. So-called Tuareg blues is now hugely popular here as well. Bands like Tamikrest and Tinariwen are now very famous. Are there any still-unknown musicians you'd like to point us toward?
A musician from Niger I love, who doesn't get enough recognition outside the Sahel, is Abdallah Oumbadougou. I play many of his songs in my repertoire. He's a great master of Tuareg music, but unfortunately he never became famous in the West.
How did "Midiwan (My Friends)" come about, and what's its message?
"Midiwan" is a song dedicated to my friends back home, it simply means "my people" or "my friends". It's just a song to say that I miss them, that I rely on them, that even though I'm far away most of the time, I'm also thinking of them.
In the album I sense a deep reverence for the land, for popular traditions that are disappearing, struck to the heart by an intolerant and lethal globalization. Some contemporary intellectuals and philosophers claim that "the future is actually behind us", and that we should therefore look back rather than forward, as we've been doing for decades now. How do you approach technology, and consumerism in general?
I love technology, like everyone in the West does, for that matter. I have my phone, where I check Facebook and use WhatsApp and so on. It's become an important part of my life while I'm on the move. When I'm home, I hardly ever use technology that way. Life is different there, and I try to spend as much time as I can with my wife, my daughters, my family and friends. I think everything we consume through technology is both good and bad at the same time. If used too much, it's bad; if used in moderation, it can be very good. It's a wonderful way to make new friends, talk to my fans and meet new ones. So, I don't think technology is "bad", even if it often doesn't lead to good things.
You've been to Italy many times. Do you like our country? What do you like most about Italians, and what don't you love?
Yes, over the last five years I've been to Italy many times. It's become one of my favorite places to go. I love the people who come to the shows, they're always full of love and energy. I love the food too, of course, but the people are what really makes me smile and feel good when I think of Italy.
How did you prepare your next live show, what should we expect?
Expect a big party.
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This article is an English translation of the original Italian text by Giuliano Delli Paoli, published on OndaRock.it. It was translated with the help of artificial intelligence, under the editorial responsibility of OndaRock's editor-in-chief, Claudio Fabretti.
| Agadez (Cumbancha, 2011) | ||
| Nomad (Nonesuch, 2013) | 8 | |
| Azel (Partisan, 2016) | 7.5 | |
| Deran (Partisan, 2018) | 7.5 | |
| Sahel (Partisan, 2023) | 7 |